


Spark a Fire

by startrekto221B



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, John really hates Sherlock, M/M, Nerd John, Sherlock is a delinquent, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:52:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3456386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekto221B/pseuds/startrekto221B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is a by the book nerd who's been accepted to Harvard while Sherlock is a juvenile delinquent with no future. Put together in the same American Government class they find that they really, really, really hate each other. But do they really? After all, sparks lead to fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John Locke

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“The purpose of a democracy is to carry out the will of the people. Now, the most well-known democracy to you is probably the United States of America. But can anyone tell me the name of the world’s largest democracy?” Miss Evans underlined the word ‘Democracy’ on the board.

John’s hand shot up.

“Mr. Watson,”

“Republic of India,” he recited, “Population 1.252 billion,”

“That is correct…” she went on to explain the pillars of democracy.

“Show-off,” the tall dark-haired boy in the leather jacket, sitting right behind him whispered a bit loudly.  

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

John tried his hardest to just look forward and take notes. Look forward and take notes, he thought. Take notes.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Would you stop that inane tapping!” he turned around and whispered fiercely, pushing up his glasses.

“Sorry, is it bothering you?” the boy asked, in a mockingly innocent voice.

“Yes!” John snapped, turning back around and resuming note taking.

Tap. Tappa-tap. Tap. Tappa-tap. Tappa-tap. Tap.

He’s still rapping his pencil against the desk. But now he’s just trying to annoy me, John fumed.

John turned around briefly to glare at him.

Tap. Tippa-tap. Tappa-tap. Tap. Tap. Tippity-tap. Tappa-tap. Tap.

“Now if you all did last night’s reading, you’ll be able to describe the philosophy of John Locke, which was critical to the establishment of our democratic principle, class?” Miss Evans asked.

John’s hand shot up.

“Now John you’ve already answered one, but if you’d like to nominate a friend,” she offered.

Yes, John thought. Now was his chance, Sherlock couldn’t have possibly have done the reading.

John smiled at her, “I nominate Sherlock Holmes,”

“Mr. Holmes?” she asked, “Do you know the answer to the question?”

“Well. See, the thing is—“ Sherlock began.

Yes, John thought. Take that, irritating tapper.

Sherlock cleared his throat, “John Locke had an incredibly complex philosophy that it is difficult to boil it down to a single answer. Most questions are like that actually. The largest democracy for example. You didn’t specify. Largest by overall population? Largest by area? Largest by population eligible to vote?”

“But if you had to summarize his basic concept in brief, what would you say?” Miss Evans asked.

Stop stalling, John thought desperately. You don’t know, he thought, just admit it.

“John Locke’s social contract theory insinuated that political authority is drawn from the consent of the governed and can be withdrawn if individual freedoms and rights of the people are violated or otherwise curtailed,” Sherlock said smoothly.

John hated him. John really did.

“Well done, Mr. Holmes, and valid point about questions,” she marked a bullet on the board, “Now. Moving on from John Locke…”

“Thought you had me there didn’t you,” Sherlock leaned forward and whispered.

John didn’t respond.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“You’re insufferable,” John jerked backwards.

“You’re the one that knows the exact population of India,”

“Shut up, you don’t respect school, you and your friends don’t respect anything, why are you even here?”

“American government is sadly a graduation requirement, and before I break out of this little brick prison I’d like to have a piece of paper to show for twelve years of sweet slow torture sitting beside the likes of you,”

“You should be happy to have gotten the chance to sit beside the likes of me, I’m going to Harvard after this, where are you going, a detention facility?”

“Oh what’s the difference, we’re both going to some sort of penal complex, at least I’ll meet some interesting people in mine, and my room and board’s free,”

“You think this is some sort of joke?”

“Oh you’re definitely a joke,” Sherlock scoffed, “Eighteen years old and you haven’t lived a day.”

“Don’t talk to me,” John said finally.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“I said don’t talk to me,” John turned around again.

Tap. Tap.

“Sherlock,” John said through gritted teeth.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Exasperated, John tried to grab the pencil from his hand.

“What’s going on back there?” Miss Evans asked.

“John is attempting to confiscate my personal property,” Sherlock said innocently.

“He refuses to stop bothering me,” John huffed.

“John I expected better of you,” Miss Evans, “Sherlock, well…I want to see both of you in detention tomorrow,”

John gasped, “No, you can’t, I didn’t do anything, I swear,”

“Mr. Watson,” Miss Evans said sternly.

John sighed. He could hear Sherlock stifling laughter from behind him. Damn him.

“See what you did,” John whispered angrily when Miss Evans had her back turned.

Sherlock said nothing.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tappa-tap. Tap. Tippity-tap. Tap.


	2. Detention

“Two hours, no reading material, and it’s your fault,” John hissed.

“Just take a nap why don’t you,” Sherlock folded his hands and put his head down on the desk, “Stop talking so much.”

“You’re fine with this? This is going to go on our permanent records!” John pointed out.

“Yeah next to actual misdemeanor charges this is going to look simply terrible,” Sherlock said sassily, looking up to face him.

“I still don’t get it, how’d you answer the question?” John asked, “You don’t do the homework,”

“Yes, I don’t generally memorize pages and pages of facts, and dull pointless exercises but it was fairly obvious to anyone that knows anything about enlightened philosophy,”

“ _You_ read philosophy,” John said in disbelief.

“You’re surprised?”

“Most times I back out of the parking lot and you’re smoking by the dumpsters with your little gang,” John said, “Yes, I am surprised,”

“You’re quite brave for a little nerd aren’t you? Talking to me like that, trying to grab the pencil out of my hand,” Sherlock stood a little straighter in his chair.

“You don’t intimidate me,” John said defiantly, though he was, in truth, the tiniest bit intimidated, they were after all, alone in here. No one would come back to check on them for another half hour at least.

“It doesn’t intimidate you to know that if I wanted to I could have snapped your wrist when you tried to touch me, it doesn’t intimidate you to know that I could throw you against that wall right now by your throat until you could barely breathe in order to beg me for mercy?” Sherlock said silkily.

“No,” John shook his head, “I’m not afraid,”

“Interesting,” Sherlock said simply.

They were quiet for a while. John looked out the window at passing cars. Counted the number of tiles on the floor.

“Thirty seven,” Sherlock said.

“What?”

“You’ve been looking down, you’re counting the tiles, obviously, there’s thirty seven,”

“Like I said before, don’t talk to me,”

“Why not? I mean you’re dull, but silence is duller,”

“I don’t like you,” John said shortly.

“I know,” Sherlock shrugged.

“How do you know?”

“It’s a perfectly privileged, elitist, short-sighted assessment based on little data,” Sherlock said, “But I don’t like you either.”

“And how come your assessment isn’t based on _little data_?”

“Because I know your type, rich, suburban, perfect little family, older sister went to some ivy school, now you’re going to Harvard, one parent’s probably legacy, perfect ACT score, never broken a single rule, gone to the same school all his life, wants to go to medical school, tells himself he’s doing it to help people, but is really after the money,”

“I do want to help people, and that’s not what my life is—you don’t know, we barely know each other, how do you know all that stuff about me anyway?”

“I didn’t know, I deduced it, and if that’s not what your life is, what did I get wrong?”

“None of it was wrong,” John admitted.

“Then I’m right,” Sherlock said smugly.

“No, none of it was wrong, but there’s more, there’s more that you can’t get just by looking at me you pretentious, you pretentious…”

“You can’t even call me a bastard, that’s sad,”

“Civilized people don’t talk like that,”

“Oh come on you fucking weasel,” Sherlock snapped.

“What else? Looking at me what else you got?” John said confrontationally, hoping Sherlock would get something wrong.

Sherlock looked him up and down and John shivered, “Increased sensitivity to noise, repeated mentions of the fact that you’re going to Harvard, so you want to get away, get away from what? No money trouble, that’s an expensive sweater, cat hair, two cats, one’s a Himalayan, you’re rich, slightly on edge, overreact to small annoyances, your parents are getting divorced and it’s bothering you,”

“Amazing—I mean how dare you!” John recovered, “You know what. The rest of the time. We’re not talking.”

Sherlock smiled, “You said amazing,”

“I did not,”

“That’s not what most people say,” Sherlock smiled again, infuriating John at a whole new level.

“Oh really? What do most people say?”

“Piss off,” Sherlock answered.

“Piss off,” John snapped.


	3. Late to Class

_Monday_

The desks had been rearranged into groups of four. John noted, annoyed, that he had been placed directly facing Sherlock Holmes. God could he never get away from that kid? Look at him now, John thought, smirking away.

How could he possibly call _me_ a show-off? John thought. Him with his leather jacket, ripped jeans, smelling like nicotine all the time. That obnoxious cologne.

“Long time no see, John,” Sherlock said as he sat down, having come to class five minutes late, his eyes were really, really blue, John noted, he hadn’t really noticed before.

“What did you do this weekend?” John tried to be civil.

“Kathleen and Kelly Parker,” Sherlock replied, “What did _you_ do? Read medical journals in your dad’s study?”

“No I read the latest issue of _Scientific American_ ,” John said, vaguely scandalized.

Sherlock was about to make a snarky comment, but then the lecture began and he was forced to limit himself to smirking.

A few minutes passed quietly. Then Miss Evans passed out a worksheet for the class to work on by themselves.

Tap. Tap.

Not again. But this time John grabbed it out of his hand, and it wasn’t a pencil but a…”Here you can have your cigarette butt! That’s disgusting throw those out. It’s an environmental hazard.”

Sherlock laughed again. Why was he always laughing? John thought angrily.

“You don’t smoke, John?” Sherlock asked, though he clearly knew the answer.

“No,” John replied, “I do not smoke. I’m going to be a doctor,”

“Makes sense, and it would probably irritate your asthma,”

“How do you know I have--? Never mind,” John opened a textbook and began filling out the worksheet.

Sherlock smirked again, then did the same.

_Tuesday_

“Stop parking your motorbike so close to my car, I almost ran over it,” John said as Sherlock arrived to class, this time a grand total of ten minutes late.

“That sounds like a you problem,” Sherlock said shortly, his hair was really curly, John noted, he put some sort of product in it, John thought idly, what an idiot. No John, focus, he thought, the motorbike.

“It’ll be a you problem if I report you,” John said, “That’s a clear violation of the school parking code,”

“Are you even listening to yourself?” Sherlock asked incredulously, “Do you hear the words that come out of your mouth when you talk?”

“Hey some of us like the rules, they preserve order, create stability,” John said.

“All I heard was ‘whine whine whine whine blah blah blah whine whine blah’ “ Sherlock laughed, god why does he laugh so much, John thought, “Care to repeat?”

“Park your motorbike appropriately,”

_Wednesday_

“You going to the bonfire tonight?” Sherlock asked.

“It’s a school night,” John explained.

“So?”

“So don’t you have work to do? I mean after this I have kids to tutor after school, after that I’m due for my shift at the sandwich shop, and then I have tons of Calculus homework,”

“Calculus will be around forever my friend, you’re only going to be young once,”

“That rationale promotes a totally unstable lifestyle, and we’re not friends,”

“Stop stating the obvious, you’re scared,”

“What am I scared of?” John asked, “Not of you. We established that.”

“You’re scared that if you step out of your little bubble, step out of it just a little tiny bit that you’ll enter real life, and real life will burn you,”

“Stop smirking for once!” John snapped, “And I’m not scared.”

“Prove it.”

“I don’t have to.”

_Thursday_

“You actually showed up,” Sherlock slid into his chair, twenty minutes late.

“I never back down from a challenge,” John said defiantly.

“You stayed for a half hour, didn’t talk to anyone while you were there, you didn’t even say hi to me,” Sherlock looked at him curiously.

“You were otherwise occupied,”

“Oh right,” Sherlock laughed nervously, “Yeah I was…”

“You smell like smoke,”

“Don’t I always?” Sherlock said confusedly.

“More today than usual,”

“Oh yeah, rough night yesterday, foster dad threatened to throw me out, again,”

“You’re an orphan?” John asked, surprised.

“Yeah and if you give me any sympathetic bullcrap I’ll punch you, I almost punched my foster dad actually, luckily I got out of the house and smoked a bit to let out some of the tension, half a pack, then two more this morning,”

“Stop smoking, you’re going to get cancer and die,” John said.

“Why do you care again?”

“I don’t,”

_Friday_

Sherlock was absent for the first forty minutes of class. Ah, John thought, some peace. But where was he? John thought. Was he okay? What if he really punched his foster dad? Was he in a juvenile detention facility somewhere? Oh my god. John had told him to stop smoking and instead Sherlock had gone and done something stupid. It was all his fault.

He looked at the clock. The empty chair. The absence of that annoying-as-hell smirk. Good riddance, John thought. But he couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Tap. Tap. He found himself doing it with his pencil. No John, he thought. You’re glad to be rid of him. Yes, John thought, yes, I’m glad to be rid of him. But class was going by so slowly without their usual back and forth. The air was too pure around this table. No scent of nicotine wafting over from Sherlock’s corner.

“Did you miss me?” Sherlock said, dear god he’s back, John thought.

“Absolutely not,”


	4. The Calculus Problem

_Monday_

“You’ve been staring at that for a while,” Sherlock said dryly, “Care to let me see it?”

“It’s a definite integral, you’re not even taking Advanced Placement Calculus,” John said.

“I don’t do your honors and advanced nonsense, the work is dull, but I know the math, give it to me,” he didn’t wait for John to acquiesce and instead just grabbed the paper from him.

“Hmmm,” Sherlock said, “Elementary. I know where you messed up.”

“Give it back,” John said weakly, knowing he would be ignored, “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Sherlock scribbled on the paper and handed it back to John, “You’re welcome,”

“Where are you going?” John asked as Sherlock got up.

“Oh, _bathroom_ ,” Sherlock made quotation marks with his hand, “But that’s just an excuse to get out of here, really speaking I’m bunking, I’ve got a—“

“You can’t bunk school, I don’t care what you’ve got to do that’s more interesting or—“ John started to say but Sherlock was gone.

He was left to stare at what Sherlock had written on the paper. John sighed. He had hoped the answer wouldn’t be right. But it was. And Sherlock’s work was remarkably neat. Such clean steps. Such round, perfect, handwriting. In fact the handwriting was nearly as good looking as Sherlock himself. No, god no, John thought. He couldn’t think like that.

_Tuesday_

Group partner project. And randomly assigned to Sherlock. I must be being plotted against by Satan himself, John thought.

“You don’t mind if we meet at your house tomorrow do you?” Sherlock asked him after class.

“No I think my parents would prefer it greatly to me going to your place,” John admitted.

“They’ve heard of me?”

“I told them you got me in detention, they think you’re a bad influence,”

“Bad influence? Me? If anything you’re the bad influence,”

“Me?” John asked, “How could I possibly be a bad influence,”

“I had some time to kill last night so I actually did some homework, what am I becoming?” Sherlock smirked, “Soon I’ll break out in a mad desire to wear soft cable knit sweaters,”

“Stop smirking,”

“Make me,” Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t flirt with me,”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Sherlock batted his eyelashes at him.

“Yes, very,”

“Excellent,”

“Why didn’t _you_ want to meet at your place then?”

“I sleep on the sofa in Greg’s apartment, I’m not sure what his guest policy is,”

“So your foster dad did throw you out,” John reasoned.

“Oh no I left,”

_Wednesday Night (John’s house)_

“Don’t smoke in the house,” John warned when he opened the door.

“Nice foyer, got some nice Ming dynasty vases there, originals?” Sherlock stepped in through the door, sopping wet.

“It’s pouring, you came on the bike?” John asked.

“As opposed to the magic carpet?”

“Shut up, I’ll get you a towel, idiot,” John walked away, “Try not to touch too many things while I’m gone,”

Sherlock looked around. He had known John was rich, but not this rich. This was a gated community. It was lucky John had called security ahead of time to let them known a boy named Sherlock Holmes would be coming. Otherwise he never would have gotten through. And this house was huge. Six. No seven bedrooms at least. He had gotten a cursory look at the grounds. Two million dollars estimated value. He took in the general décor. Everything in its exact place. A formal dining table, probably never used. What was the point of such things? He made a few quick deductions. John’s father was a surgeon. John’s mother had been a beauty queen. That explained both John’s soft features and fine blonde hair as well as his incessant drive to be a doctor. It seemed strangely tense in this house though. He couldn’t explain why.

“Oh are you, Sherlock?” a beautiful blonde woman who smelled vaguely lavender came up and shook his hand.

“Mrs. Watson?” Sherlock presumed.

“Natalia, please,” she said, looking at Sherlock appreciatively, “John’s told us so much about you, he never brings friends home,”

“We’re not friends,” John had brought the towel and thrust it at Sherlock, “We have a project,”

“You didn’t say he was this handsome,” John’s mother laughed coyly.

“Must have slipped my mind,” John sighed, “We can work in the study, my dad’s not here,”

“Sorry for the mess,” John gestured to the stacks of medical articles everywhere and began clearing a space, “I can get you a chair from the other room,”

John really was into this medical thing, Sherlock looked around. Books from the _National Institutes of Health_. Periodicals from _The Center for Disease Control_. One particular article amused him, ‘Statistics on the Danger of Nicotine to Male Adolescents’.  

There were family pictures on the wall. Natalia, who had clearly had an affair, Sherlock deduced. John and a man who must be Mr. Watson. All sitting quite demurely in what must be an annual shot taken of the Watsons. They all looked so happy in the earlier ones, Sherlock noticed. John looked a lot more carefree than he did now. The parents had visibly scooted away from each other in the later shots. John had a wary look in his eyes he lacked in the beginning. He looked a bit nervous when the picture was taken. What had happened to him? Sherlock wondered.

“Thanks,” Sherlock took the chair, “I was impressed by the reading,”

John looked at him, trying to determine whether or not he was being sarcastic.

“I can be genuine some of the time,” Sherlock said, “Is that smoking article for me?”

“Oh yeah,” John blushed slightly, “I was going to quote you some statistics from it sometime, but it’s probably no use,”

There was an awkward pause. Then Sherlock coughed, “We should probably start working, this paper won’t write itself…”

“I was surprised you even came to help at all, I would have written it,” John admitted.

“And let you hold that over my head for the rest of the semester? No way. Besides, now that the security people recognize me I can come here whenever I want,”

They worked for an hour after that. Sherlock using the desktop computer to compile some research while John cross referenced facts on the laptop.

“I think that’s enough work for today,” John remarked.

“Ah, fuck, it’s still raining,” Sherlock noted, “At least I have a helmet, I’ll be off,”

“You’re not driving back to Greg’s in this downpour,” John said, “I’ll take you back in my car,”

“No I couldn’t ask you to do that, plus what am I going to do about the bike?”

“I’ll have someone drop it off later, you can leave it in our garage,”

“Or I can just get a little wet and go now,” Sherlock said.

“You’re already at risk for cancer, and various diseases of the liver, I’m not letting you add pneumonia to that,” John insisted.

“Why ever not? Without people like me you doctors wouldn’t earn any money,”

“Yes, yes, I look forward to dissecting your charred lungs someday, but today we’re going by car,”

“Leather is waterproof,”

“Sherlock,”

“Fine, be dull about it why don’t you?”

_Thursday_

“Your butler is an idiot,” Sherlock said first thing in class.

“He brought you the bike back didn’t he?” John asked.

“He asked to see valid identification, but my driver’s license has my real name on it,” Sherlock sighed, “People are such idiots, I spent a half hour proving I was Sherlock,”

“You could have just texted me, I would have told him the insufferable prick he’s talking to is Sherlock,”

“I don’t have your number,” Sherlock, “Write it down, next time I will,”

“What’s your real name?” John scribbled his number down on a post-it and passed it toward Sherlock.

“William Holmes Jr.,” Sherlock answered.

“Why don’t you go by that?”

“Well first of all it’s way too common, second of all, William Sr. basically did nothing in his life except knock my mother up and leave her, and thirdly I’d like to think ‘Sherlock’ sounds a lot cooler,” Sherlock said nonchalantly.

John was startled by this pronouncement, “You know what, it kinda does,”

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Guess who?_

_Sherlock. –JW_

_You’re incredibly keen. This is clearly why you’re valedictorian. –SH_

_Why are you texting me? –JW_

_Why are you texting back? –SH_

_That’s actually a really good question. –JW_

_I think you secretly don’t hate me that much now that you know about my crappy life. But don’t believe the hype. I am still the deplorable person that put a detention on your record. –SH_

_I know you are. I still hate you. –JW_

_Fucking nerd. I hate you too. -SH_


	5. Ice Cream and Smoke

_Monday_

_Hey, could I borrow $50? It’s a bit urgent. I’ll pay you back. –SH_

_Why would I loan you $50? Can’t you ask your friends?-JW_

_I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. My friends are broke. –SH_

_Fine. –JW_

_So that’s a yes? –SH_

_Yes. –JW_

_Right thanks, so…um. How’s the reading going? –SH_

_Why are you still texting me? –JW_

_Are you busy? –SH_

_Yes. –JW_

_With what? I’m burning with curiosity. –SH_

_Piano. I don’t suppose you play any instruments. –JW_

_Wrong. Violin. And electric guitar. –SH_

_Violin? –JW_

_Foster Father #2 paid for lessons. –SH_

_How many have you had? –JW_

_6\. –SH_

_You must have been a problem child? –JW_

_Or they’re all idiots. Balance of probability, they’re idiots. Most people are. –SH_

_I’m not. –JW_

_Eh. Debatable. –SH_

_Stop texting me. –JW_

***

_Tuesday_

“What did you use the money for?” John asked as Sherlock slipped him back $75, “And I don’t need interest,”

“Gas money and motel fees, I had to visit my brother,” Sherlock explained, “Keep the $25, buy yourself a nice book or something,”

“I didn’t know you had a brother, and keep the money,”

“Fine, I’ll owe you for later, and there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me,”

_Wednesday_

“You like that Mary girl,” Sherlock deduced idly.

“I do not, and don’t say it so loud,” John whispered back.

“Don’t deny it, there were several signs, you should ask her out,”

“Why would I do that?” John asked, “What if she says no?”

“Novelty of dating Harvard-bound John Watson is enough to swing a yes I should think, you’re not bad looking generally, but if you’re too scared just forget it,” Sherlock said.

“I’m not scared,”

“Then why won’t you?”

“I don’t see the point,” John explained.

“Your parents were high school sweethearts,” Sherlock realized.

“What does that have anything to do with it?” John said defensively.

“Nothing at all,”

_Thursday_

“I need that favor you owe me,” John said.

“Nothing sexual alright, but I’m game,”

“What? No! You’re sick, stop smirking,” John snapped.

“Sorry I forgot who I was speaking to, what is it?”

“Stay after and help me with the chemistry lab, I was absent and I need a partner,” John explained.

“Nerd squad not available?” Sherlock asked, surprised.

“They’re all going to the chess tournament, I didn’t qualify,”

“Weren’t you state champion last year? You didn’t even qualify this year?”

“Will you do it or not?” John asked exasperatedly.

“Firm, confidence, nice touch, I will,”

_After School Thursday_

“You have to wear a lab coat when we do this, this is 5 molar hydrogen peroxide,” John said.

“Yes, yes, I’ve inhaled chemicals more dangerous than this,” Sherlock scoffed, “Pass me that flask,”

John sighed, “If you singe yourself I’m not to blame,”

“We’re working over an open flame?”

“Yeah,” John nodded, “Why?”

“No, I’m fine,” Sherlock said nervously.

John turned on the Bunsen burner, clasped the beaker with metal tongs and held it over the open flame. Sherlock stared at it, almost mesmerized.

“Alright,” John directed, “Now take the testing paper, and hold it over the steam that’s coming out, and tell me what color the paper turns,”

Sherlock held the paper over the beaker, rather far over its mouth, and John noted that he was sweating slightly, “You can really feel the heat of the flame? Can you move it any closer?”

“No,” Sherlock dropped the paper, “I can’t, I-I should go,”

“Are you okay?” John saw that he had gone rather pale.

“Yeah fine, I’ll just…bye,” he grabbed his coat and dashed off, leaving his scarf on the desk.

_You’re afraid of fire. –JW_

_Am not. –SH_

_That day at the bonfire. You were standing as far away from it as you possibly could. –JW_

_Did you finish the lab by yourself? –SH_

_Yeah. You had already helped set up most of it. Only took a few minutes. –JW_

_What color did the paper turn? –SH_

_Violet. –JW_

_For this particular chemical reaction, that is correct. –SH_

***

John looked around for Sherlock’s locker after school, he had to talk to him about their report, when he noticed Sherlock and his gang walking towards him.

“What are you doing here, Watson?” one of them sneered.

“Sherlock?” John said hopefully, but Sherlock pretended not to hear him.

“It’s about time we should deal with the likes of you, you’ve been getting us in trouble for years” another laughed coldly.

John’s heart raced, he looked around frantically but the halls were deserted.

“No one here, no one to hear you scream,” a third boy read his mind.

John looked for Sherlock, surely Sherlock wouldn’t let them do this to him. They were almost friends. Or something.

And Sherlock did say something, but not what John was expecting him to say, “You guys wait by my bike, I’ll deal with him myself,”

As if recognizing that saying this alone wasn’t enough to scare the hell out of John he gripped him by the collar of shirt and pushed him up against a locker, “Did you not hear what I said? It won’t be very pretty,” he said darkly.

They sniggered to each other and filed out at his command. John meanwhile was breathing hard, very hard, this was so unfair, he had been relatively civil to Sherlock, why would he do this?

“Please don’t hurt me,” John said quietly.

Sherlock jerked his head, looked around the corner and dropped him, “They’re out of the average hearing radius. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Oh,” John let his heart rate fall back to normal, “So all that. That was just—“

“For show, obviously,” Sherlock said, “You didn’t think I was actually going to—“

“For a second there,” John admitted.

“Next time you want to talk to me, text me a place, we can’t meet like this,” Sherlock explained.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” John sat down, leaning his back against the lockers, “If you hadn’t been there,”

“You still look a bit shaken up,”

“I wonder why,”

“Let’s go out for ice cream,”

“Ice cream?” John asked, “And aren’t they waiting for you?”

“Ah, they’ll wait for a while then leave, and I’m little pissed at them right now anyway. We’ll take your car. The best way to care for a traumatized kid is to give him ice cream,”

“That’s not medically sound at all, where’d you hear that?”

“Foster Father #3,”

_At the Ice Cream Shop_

“Of course you would get vanilla with rainbow sprinkles,” Sherlock sighed.

“As opposed to the chocolate monstrosity you’re having?” John pointed out, “That thing has more calories than you should have in an entire day,”

“Live a little John, observe,” he took a large bite, “Well that’s painful,”

“Brain freeze, you deserve it,” John said, “Why did your foster father think this would help you?”

“Relatively dull fellow, trauma was from the fire, solution is the opposite: ice, can’t feed a kid ice, next best thing is ice cream,” Sherlock explained.

“Fire? What fire?” John asked.

“The one that burned my parents alive,” Sherlock said.

“I’m sorry,”

“Aren’t we all?”

“I’m sorry but doesn’t it bother you?”

“Of course it does, which is why I’m eating this ice cream, do you always ask this many questions?”

“So he was right, the ice cream helps,”

“In a manner of speaking,”

“What do you mean?” John asked, maybe Sherlock was right, he did ask a lot of questions.

“Cold dulls feelings, but doesn’t make them go away,”

“That’s why you smoke, because you like the ice cream,”

“You’re finally seeing things my way,”

“Never,”

“Too late,”


End file.
